Somewhere in the mountain
Indian's timeless spell,
framed by stately 18th century
Spanish architecture and
peppered with modern
electronic gadgetry, is a
small quiet town whose
women are beautiful
and men handsome.

This Shangri-La, at
the very end of paved
road from the west,
is Alamos Sonora, Mexico.

Behold ridge after volcanic
ridge, separated by deep
narrow canyons, marching
on for a hundred miles, and
climbing to 10,000 feet
where giant hawks
and eagles soar.

The monumental silence
is all powerful.

Time is reduced to mere
sand, worn off of towering
rock faces and carried
away with the winds.
These endless ridges
conjure up stark silhouettes
of reclining warriors, upon
whose barren stomachs
humble life persists.

Over the horizon, to the
southwest, is the famous
Copper Canyon region.

The eye continues to sweep
the horizon and returns,
as it always does,
to the cathedral's classically
proportioned three-tiered
belfry announcing civilization
on the half hour.

Past, present and future
comes together,in a special
way, as one walks down
hand-swept cobblestone
streets listening to
laughing children behind
bougainvillea-crowned walls.